Good morning today I’m on the blog tour for A Patient Man by S. Lynn Scott. I have an extract from the book, which I hope piques your interest. A Patient Man has been described as ‘ a book that explores the harsh realities of growing up in 1970s Essex, growing up on the poverty line and the impacts others’ behaviours have on our own lives’. Sounds intriguing, read on for the book description and extract.
It is 1976 and Mikey, eight-years-old and street-wise beyond his years, is looking forward to a summer of freedom, roaming the creeks and the mud-flats of Canvey Island. But violent emotions are rumbling beneath the surface, about to destroy all that he thought he knew.
When Mikey’s neighbours, the Freemans, win a great deal of money, the old couple become the targets of a criminal act that leaves Peggy Freeman dead and her husband, Bert thirsting for revenge. Believing that young Mikey’s family is responsible, Bert devises a highly unusual but devastatingly effective form of reprisal. But where does the guilt really lie, and will there be punishment or redemption?
Told from Mikey’s viewpoint with light touches of humour, A Patient Man is a gripping crime novel peopled with believable characters who are drawn inexorably in to a story that explores the effects of greed, money and the human need for retribution.
- Print Length: 179 pages
- Publisher: Matador (20 Aug. 2018)
It is impossible to suffer without making
someone pay for it; every complaint already
The next thing that happened took place just over a week later.
It was early summer, and the days were long and balmy as they always are when you are young. The holidays were still too many days away but with the sun already bright in a cloudless sky this day promised long hours of freedom if I made my escape before constraints were forced upon me. My mother preferred it if I went to school so that I didn’t bother her, but it wasn’t regarded as an absolute necessity and, as finding me and forcing me through the gates caused her no end of trouble, she followed the course of least resistance and just put the letters that arrived from the headmaster into the rubbish bin with a frustrated shrug.
I didn’t dislike school particularly. I had friends there, a raucous bunch that tore around the schoolyard at break-time like things possessed, bouncing off walls and bruising bodies, our own and others. Lessons weren’t much calmer. In most, I just did what I wanted and ignored the teacher or gave him blank looks so that he concluded that I was thick and not worth bothering with. I was occasionally intrigued enough by something or other to earn surprised approval from a wearied teacher who had given me up as a lost cause. I was naturally bright. I know that now but back then education and the reasons for it were a complete mystery to me. Schooling was an imposition on my time and I did not see how it could free my mind by constraining my body. I did go willingly on some days, if Bones and I had planned some adventure or some torment for a teacher or a fellow student, or if the weather was bad or if we were working on something transiently intriguing like Robinson Crusoe or the sex life of plants – which promised so much and delivered so little.
But when the weather was warm and dry enough to allow me to run free in shorts, a well-worn t-shirt and battered pumps, then I was awake with the lark (not that we ever had such a thing on Canvey I am sure – unless it were a mud lark) and off over the mud flats to the oily shore where all sorts of interest and delight lay between the wooden-hulled boats, floating seagulls, and grass- lined sea walls.
This morning though was destined to be the start of something different.
About the author
S. Lynn Scott began her adult life determined to take the theatrical world by storm. The theatrical world, it turned out, wasn’t quite so keen to embrace her as she had expected it would be, and so, nothing daunted, she successfully turned her undoubted talents to Terpsichorean entertainment in dark, exotic places. There she learned that a jewelled bra and a very large feathered fan are no substitutes for a good book and a cheese and Branston Pickle sandwich. Her further youthful adventures are, mercifully, lost in the mists of time and she now lives with suitable decorum in Leicestershire where she writes, insists on directing others who are better at acting than she is, dreams of working for the RSC and then writes some more. “Elizabeth, William…and Me” is her first published novel. There are others waiting nervously in the wings.
Website : http://www.slynnscott.com/
Twitter : @SLSwriter
Follow the blog tour……..